


Under the Gramophone

by CosmicZombie



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:59:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicZombie/pseuds/CosmicZombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas blinked. “You’ve never slow danced with a girl before?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Gramophone

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the prompt 'slow dancing' for the lovely todowntononanimpala over on tumblr... Hope you enjoy! c:

 

“What’s wrong with you tonight?” Thomas asked finally, when Jimmy lost the fifth game of cards in a row and threw them down, scattering them all across the floor.

 

They were holed up in Jimmy’s room, smoking and playing card games as they did most evenings these days. Only tonight, Jimmy had seemed distracted and fidgety and unlike himself. He kept making mistakes in his game, and flushed whenever Thomas looked at him.

 

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Jimmy replied too quickly, sighing and pushing a hand through his rumpled blonde hair which had come out of its pomaded shape while he’d clutched it in his hands through it during their last card game. Upstairs, the the muffled sound of the gramophone blared from the library. Jimmy's room was directly underneath it, so there was always the muffled sound of music when they played cards in the evenings.

 

Thomas raised his eyebrows at Jimmy's stammered reply, but said nothing. Instead, he pulled his lighter from his pocket and lit a cigarette. He never pushed things with Jimmy— he didn’t want to risk their friendship.

 

“It’s just…” Jimmy broke off, shaking his head and accepting a cigarette. He swept his hair out of his eyes and looked up at Thomas, his grey-blue eyes flickering uncertainly from the scattered cards to Thomas’ unwavering gaze. His cheeks were still slightly flushed. “I… I want… I— Ivy wants to dance with me,” he blurted, and the colour on his cheeks darkened.

 

“What’s so terrible about that?” Thomas asked coolly, exhaling in a plume of smoke that curled up into the air above them of the dimly lit room. Jimmy was squirming uncomfortably the way he always did when he wasn’t quite telling Thomas the whole truth. It was strange, Thomas noted, how Jimmy could lie outrageously to Mr. Carson or Alfred without flinching— but he could never seem to lie to Thomas.

 

“I— I can’t slow dance, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy muttered, putting his cigarette to his lips and not meeting Thomas’ gaze.

 

Thomas blinked. “You’ve never slow danced with a girl before?”

 

“With anyone,” Jimmy said, through a cloud of smoke. Thomas fleetingly wondered why Jimmy felt the need to make that distinction, but the thought was eclipsed by the surprise that someone as painfully handsome as Jimmy had never slow danced before.

 

“Well, it’s not difficult,” Thomas raised his eyebrows, tapping ash into the little glass ash tray that sat between them on the floor. He glanced up at Jimmy, who was still fidgeting uncomfortably, his gaze fixed somewhere behind Thomas.

 

“Can you teach me?” Jimmy blurted, blue eyes flickering to capture Thomas’ for a split second before Jimmy ducked his head, taking a shaky drag of his cigarette, his cheeks flushed. Thomas swallowed uncomfortably, his heart beating painfully fast in his chest, and looked away himself.

 

“I’m really not sure that’s the best idea, Jimmy,” Thomas said evenly, although his heart ached to dance with Jimmy. It was awful how often Jimmy asked things of him that were so impossible because they were what Thomas wanted more than anything. Being friends with Jimmy had never been easy, but it was worth it. It was better than the alternative.

 

“Oh, but please, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy protested, gazing imploringly at Thomas. “Just once. I’ll buy you cigarettes next time I’m in Ripon.”

 

Thomas exhaled wearily, dropping his gaze. He could never stand up to Jimmy— that was his weakness, and Jimmy knew it.

 

“Alright,” Thomas relented, taking another drag of his cigarette and looking at Jimmy. “But just this once.”

 

A wide smile broke out across Jimmy’s face and he jumped up, pushing his tousled blonde hair out of his eyes and straightening his livery shirt; the jacket lay in a crumpled heap on the bed beside Thomas’. He held out his hand, and against his will, butterflies fluttered in Thomas’ stomach. He knew that it wasn’t the way he really wanted it, but he supposed he might as well make the most of it and pretend. It would never happen any other way.

 

He stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray and took Jimmy’s hand, letting the latter pull him up so they were both standing in the centre of Jimmy’s dimly lit bedroom with the cards scattered around them on the floor and the sound of the gramophone blaring upstairs from the library.

 

“So,” Thomas said, swallowing nervously as Jimmy stepped closer, and suddenly his senses were filled with the smell of Jimmy’s hair product and cologne. He cleared his throat, trying to regain control over his body. “If you’re leading, you put one hand on my waist…” Thomas struggled not to react as Jimmy placed a hand on Thomas’ hip, the warmth of his fingers painfully clear through the fabric of his shirt. “…And then take my hand in yours.”

 

“Like this?” Jimmy asked, lacing his fingers tentatively through Thomas’ and glancing up at Thomas with wide eyes. His cheeks were still flushed pink, and his eyes were more black than blue now.

 

Wordlessly, Thomas nodded.

 

“Now, when I move my right foot forward, you move your left one back, and vice versa,” Thomas said, cursing himself for sounding breathless. The feeling of Jimmy’s arm round his waist and his hand clasping his was almost too much; it was wonderful and awful all at the same time, because it was exactly what Thomas so desperately wanted— and yet not quite, because it wouldn’t ever be real.

 

“What— what else?” Jimmy asked quietly, as they began to move slowly around the softly lit room, treading on the cards he’d scattered across the floor moments before. Thomas wondered whether it was his imagination or whether Jimmy’s voice sounded subtly lower than usual. Perhaps it was just because he could feel the vibrations in Jimmy’s chest when he spoke with Jimmy was holding him so closely.

 

“We just dance…” Thomas replied, swallowing. He looked over Jimmy’s shoulder so that he didn’t have to look Jimmy in the eye. He was afraid that if he did, Jimmy would be able to see everything he was thinking and feeling in a heartbeat. “Slow dancing isn’t complicated,” Thomas added softly, trying to keep the sadness out of his voice. “It’s really just an excuse to be close to the person you love without saying as much.”

 

For a moment, Thomas’ heart leapt in the sudden fear that what he’d said had been interpreted the wrong way, but Jimmy didn’t say anything— instead he just held Thomas ever so slightly closer, so that Jimmy’s hair tickled the side of Thomas’ cheek, and Thomas could feel the warm brush of Jimmy’s breath against the side of his neck. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, simultaneously wanting to run and hide, and for the moment to never end.

 

“When was the last time you slow danced with someone you loved?” Jimmy murmured against Thomas’ neck. He was so close that Thomas could almost feel the brush of Jimmy’s lips against his skin, making him shiver with longing.

 

“Do you really need me to answer that?” Thomas whispered sadly, closing his eyes again, because it hurt less like that— when he couldn’t see how painfully, wonderfully beautiful Jimmy’s glittering blue eyes were, or how perfectly shaped his lips were, or how the slight flush on his cheeks made him more attractive than ever.

 

Then suddenly, he felt a soft, warm pressure against the side of his neck. With a jolt, he realised that it was Jimmy’s lips— Jimmy was kissing his neck, slowly and tenderly. Thomas felt as though his heart might burst out of his chest as he opened his eyes and found Jimmy staring intently at him. His cheeks were bright red and his pupils wide and blown in his eyes. His blonde hair was ruffled, and his lips were slightly parted from where they’d just kissed Thomas’ neck.

 

“Would you like me to answer it?” Jimmy said quietly. His gaze held Thomas’ steadily for the first time all night, but Thomas could feel Jimmy’s hands trembling slightly where they held him.

 

Thomas blinked, heart racing. “Answer what?”

 

“When was the last time you slow danced with someone you loved,” Jimmy whispered, eyes wide as though he was afraid— and yet they were full of warmth at the same time, and his shaking grip tightened on Thomas.

 

“But you told me you’ve never slow danced with anyone before,” Thomas mumbled, heart beating so fast he felt dizzy. “You’ve only danced with me.”

 

“Exactly…” Jimmy murmured, and then he pressed his lips softly against Thomas’ neck again, kissing the skin there hesitantly, trailing his mouth up Thomas’ neck to his jaw line. “I’m lucky… Mr. Barrow…” he murmured between kisses. “I’ve only ever slow danced with someone I loved.”

 

Upstairs, the gramophone continued to blare as they danced slowly over the scattered cards and cigarette ashes under the soft lighting of Jimmy's room.


End file.
